


Choices

by dreamoverdrive



Series: Royai Week 2016 [5]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamoverdrive/pseuds/dreamoverdrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Riza’s choices and sacrifices during her and Roy's time together. </p>
<p>" Another explosion shook the ground beneath their feet, and the screams of fighting grew closer. She looked at him and pulled her arm out of his grip, clasping her shaking, sweaty hand over his. She squeezed weakly.</p>
<p>'I chose this.' "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

The hard-packed sand at her back reverberated with the strength of a nearby explosion, hot sprinklings of gravel showering her and the other soldiers in the trench. She sucked in breath after breath, jaw locked shut and air whistling through the small gaps between her teeth as she tried to get through it.

Whatever _it_ was.

The soft wheezing whistle of her breath sped up when another shudder rippled through the earth, this time with the rolling thunder of screams. She gripped the hot barrel of her gun, metal burning her skin, and wished she was dead.

She closed her eyes and tried to drown herself in half-blurred images— _windows, mugs, flower boxes, front doors, cabinets_ —

And then it all went streaming away as more sand rushed out from behind, engulfing her in the gritty, blood-scented haze. She bit her lip until she tasted wet rust and forced herself not to scream.

She nearly had a heart attack when a strong hand latched around her upper arm, closing around the thin bugle of new muscle that had developed there with the time she spent carrying her gun new places to kill new people. She let out a choked breath as she turned to squint through the strange mix of glaring light and smoke.

It was him.

His dark eyes were wide and filled with the blankness of newly-witnessed horror. They stared into hers desperately, searching for recognition. She just blinked at him and tried to let him know there was a screaming human locked behind her face, telling him that _she knew and it was bad and god, she couldn’t take it either_ —

“I haven’t been in the trenches before,” he whispered, his quiet, broken voice only discernible because of his proximity. “I’ve been up there.”

He looked around himself, the way someone would dazedly take in a new environment. When his eyes lit back upon hers, he leaned in, bringing the smell of burning flesh and decay with him.

“This,” he said slowly, “This, is the pit of hell.”

She stared at him. It was not anything that had not already flitted through her mind. She spent most of her time out of the trenches as well, but there were infrequent days when she was ordered to return to the murky depths of the furrows in the earth.

Whenever she came back, she always wished the Ishvalans had some kind of explosive they could lob over. She didn’t think she was any better than the other soldiers who had their innards painted on sun-baked plaster.

In many ways, she was worse.

“I did this to you.”

Her eyes focused on him again, and even beneath her shell-shocked barriers of panic, the harsh agony of remorse in his face moved her.

She shook her head. “I chose this.”

Another explosion shook the ground beneath their feet, and the screams of fighting grew closer. She looked at him and pulled her arm out of his grip, clasping her shaking, sweaty hand over his. She squeezed weakly.

“I chose this.”

* * *

When her eyes finally cracked open into the harsh brilliance of the hospital room, her back felt like it had been doused with oil and lit ablaze.

She knew it was healing, because she could feel the crusting of blood and pus over her muscles. It was like the outer skin had melted away. In her mind, she could almost imagine the wet slap of her boiling skin peeling away and hitting the floor, scar and all.

That was stupid. Her skin hadn’t peeled away.

The white blur of her vision began to sort itself out into colors, then shapes, and then clarity. He was the first thing she saw, his elbows braced on his legs as he sat in the chair at her bedside with his face locked in the clawed grip of his hands.

She opened her mouth, and all that came out was a hoarse gasp when she tried to shape the sound of his name.

His head shot up, eyes snapping on her face. They were bright red, reflecting light with their glossy film of tears.

_I’m sorry,_ they screamed _. I want to burn in hell for what I did to you_.

She tried to shake her head, found it beyond her ability, but managed to croak, “Thank you. I chose this. Thank you.”

* * *

The wet, steady gush of blood at her neck was sickening. She began to feel nauseous and faint as sweat and redness stung her eyes. She forced herself to blink and disassociate from the warmth of her life pooling out on the hard stone.

She focused on him, and saw the raw electricity of fear carved in the disbelief on his face. Her gaze wavered as she closed her eyes for a moment, the ease of the darkness tempting her to stay. She heard his panicked scream at her fluttering eyelids, and she pressed them back open.

_No_ , she forced herself to say with her eyes. More pain broke across his face when he understood her message. _I chose this, Roy._

His face fell, shoulders shaking in denial. She felt overwhelmingly selfish as she refused him the luxury of selling out the entire planet for her.

“All right,” she heard him say to the stones below his face, and she knew he understood.

* * *

The white garland of flowers woven into her head smelled so strongly of sweetness that she thought she would pass out. She felt his hands tighten gently on hers as she swayed. She smiled up at him.

His face was filled with so much tenderness that she thought she would die.

He leaned in a bit closer, face hidden from the rest of the church by the white and golden storm of lace and hair. He smiled tentatively.

“Are you sure,” he murmured in the small, flower-scented space. “Are you sure about this, Riza?”

She smiled, enough warmth and relief bubbling up in her to drown the entire world. “I chose this,” she said. And then almost as an afterthought, to distinguish this choice from the _blood_ and _dirt_ and _sin_ of all her other choices, she whispered, “I want this.”

The certainty of her last words set her veins and bones thrumming.

“I _want_ this,” she whispered again, overwhelmed by the sheer novelty of having something she wanted so badly within reach after all this time.

His soft smile grew. “Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This ship week was pretty hard on me, but I'm proud of myself for getting through to the other end!


End file.
